


Chase Me, Summer Breeze

by sayasamax3



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bullying, M/M, Miscommunication, Summer Vacation, minor sports injury
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-10 03:55:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7829506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sayasamax3/pseuds/sayasamax3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The only thing worse than transferring to a new school, is transferring to a new school in the second term.  </p><p>The only thing worse than transferring to a new school in the second term is transferring into your prickly summer fling's class, and having him completely ignore you. </p><p>(AU where Yamaguchi and Tsukishima meet over summer vacation, and then are reunited when Yamaguchi transfers to Karasuno.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Found

**Author's Note:**

> Whoo so it's been like... a year, at least, since I first started babbling about this project on twitter and finally!!! It's here!!
> 
> Shout out to my twitter friends, who helped give me ideas and showed support for this idea as I babbled about it. This would probably still be a WIP in my dropbox without you!!
> 
> A note on formatting: Each chapter either begins or ends with a flash-back to the summer, and the flashbacks are in reverse order (i.e., the first flash back in the first chapter is from the end of the summer, and the last flashback in the last chapter will be from the beginning of the summer.) I'm hoping this is evident from the structure of the chapters and that it's not confusing, but I figured I'd tell you here just in case!

“Hey, Tsukki, if it’s you, you can stop time, right?”

The steady crash and fizz of the waves against wet sand almost drowns out the words.  Tsukishima turns his gaze away from the sea, faces Yamaguchi with one eyebrow raised, and scoffs. “Of course not. Where’d that level of confidence come from, anyway?”

“You didn’t even _try_ , jerk,” Yamaguchi says, bumping Tsukishima’s shoulder with his own. He's grinning, the freckles at the corners of his eyes all bunched together.  Tsukishima barely hears Yamaguchi's laughter over how loud his blood suddenly sounds in his ears. 

For just a moment, their noses had been close enough to touch.

Tsukishima looks back toward the sea.

A rush of still-warm water climbs up the beach, sparkling blue and gold under the setting sun.  It laps at their heels and calves, reaches just beyond Yamaguchi’s freckled knees and tinges the hems of his shorts with salt water.  The rush of water against his own legs is merely a gentle lull, a quiet, comforting white noise of a feeling. 

“There’s still another week of vacation,” Tsukishima murmurs.

“But it won’t be the same,” Yamaguchi replies.  “You’re leaving tomorrow, and then I’m moving the day after that, then school and—real life stuff.”

“This is real life stuff, too,” Tsukishima says, as though he doesn’t understand.

Yamaguchi laughs again, and it's only a little sad, “You know what I mean.”

Tsukishima does.  He really, _really_ does.

 “Well, either way,” Yamaguchi says after a pause, “I’m really glad I met you, Tsukki.”

The sand is cool under Tsukishima’s hand.  Yamaguchi’s hand feels warm atop it. 

Finally, Tsukishima lets his eyes move back, traveling up Yamaguchi’s legs, up the strip of his stomach that’s exposed by his unzipped jacket, up to his soft, honest smile and sweet brown eyes and Tsukishima doesn’t want to think about how this is the end, or wonder if maybe it’s not too late to suggest they try to make something work, or if it’d be too much to kiss Yamaguchi now after refraining the whole summer.

(They have each other’s cell phone numbers.  They’ve messaged each other every night since they met.  

They probably won’t message each other again, after this.) 

No, he decides, doing anything more wouldn’t be fair.  Not at this point.

Instead, he leans against Yamaguchi’s shoulder.

“I’m glad I met you, too.”

\--

\--

\--

The only thing harder than starting at a new school, Yamaguchi thinks, is starting at a new school in the middle of the school year. 

“…And now, we have a new student with us this semester.  Yamaguchi-kun, please introduce yourself.”

‘ _It could be worse,’_ he reminds himself, and tries to breathe, tries to pretend his palms aren’t sweating and his knees aren’t a moment away from buckling.  He counts the tiles that pass under his feet as he makes his way to the front of the classroom.  The count keeps him calm, but just barely.

 “My name is Yamaguchi Tadashi,” he says, his throat tight and dry as he introduces himself to the desk roughly a meter in front of him.  He doesn’t croak or puke though, so he considers it a victory.  “I-I’ll be in your care from here on out.”

A murmur moves through the class, and Yamaguchi doesn’t _want_ to, but he knows he has to lift his head and at least _try_ to face his new classmates.  His gaze bounces around the classroom, too quickly for him to make eye contact with anyone, or even really process what anyone looks like.  The classroom blurs together before him, a puddle of black and brown, with one or two points of bleached blond on a backdrop of monochrome uniform shirts.  He wonders if his eyesight has spontaneously taken a turn for the worst.

“Great,” the teacher says, apparently satisfied with the introduction.  Yamaguchi's heart begins a steady descent down back into his chest cavity.

“Yamaguchi-kun, why don’t you take the free seat behind Tsukishima-kun?”

A lightning bolt couldn’t have gotten his attention any quicker than that name does.  His heart beats on his rib cage, undecided on whether it wants to drop into his stomach or jump back into his throat or maybe just escape his body entirely, with how incessantly it pounds against his sternum. 

“Tsu—“ Yamaguchi cuts himself off before he can call out ‘ _Tsukki?’_ , and embarrass both himself and Tsukishima—who, he tells himself, even as his eyes begin scan the classroom in earnest, is most likely not _his_ Tsukishima. 

Only it _is_ him, Yamaguchi discovers, that’s his blonde hair and his angular glasses and his pretty gold eyes, staring out the window and not paying even the tiniest bit of attention to Yamaguchi, or the teacher, or anything in the classroom at all.

“Of course, you wouldn’t know who that is,” the teacher responds, apologetic, before pointing to where Yamaguchi’s eyes are already riveted, “The seat right back there.”

“Oh, right, thank you,” Yamaguchi says, the words slipping out without a thought because how can he think beyond _Tsukki is here Tsukki is here he’s not supposed to be here but Tsukki is here—_

He walks past Tsukishima’s desk.

Tsukishima never looks away from the window.

\--

Tsukishima keeps his eyes trained on the window during first break, too, and keeps his headphones on, even though they make it hard to eavesdrop on his classmates as they bombard Yamaguchi with questions.

“So why’d you transfer here Yamaguchi-kun?”

“What was your old school like?”

“Are you planning to join any clubs here?”

Yamaguchi is probably overwhelmed, Tsukishima thinks.  Having so many people crowd his desk and ask him questions.  The Yamaguchi he knew had been _dreading_ this, had worried about not being able to keep up with all the questions, about not being interesting enough, or saying something rude on accident.

 _'The only problem you're going to have is your nerves,'_ Tsukishima had said back then, and so far, he seems to have been right.

He refuses to look, but Tsukishima can imagine the way Yamaguchi’s shoulders are slowly creeping up to his ears, how he must be sinking into his chair just a little to get away from the onslaught of questions, even as he answers each of them in turn.

“Uh, well, my mom got transferred, so we moved to this area,” Yamaguchi stammers, his voice just as unsure as Tsukishima imagined it would be, “And it was, um, nice I guess?  It wasn’t really special or anything.”

Tsukishima wonders if he should intervene, this must be uncomfortable for Yamaguchi, and it wouldn’t take much to discourage the crowd behind him, just a rude comment about how noisy they are, but—

“But clubs!  What clubs are you looking to join?”

Tsukishima’s pretty sure that voice belongs to a member of the basketball club.  Well, Tsukishima supposes, Yamaguchi is pretty tall.

“Ah, well, I was a manager for the volleyball club at my old school, but...”

 _‘Liar_ ,’ the thought hits Tsukishima so hard, he’s shocked it doesn’t tumble right out of his mouth.  ‘ _You **liar**.’_

“Manager?” Their classmate asks, incredulous, “What, was it an all-boys school or something?”

Tsukishima can picture with perfect clarity the shrug Yamaguchi must be giving their classmates, the nervous, shaky smile he _must_ be wearing as he replies with a quiet, “Yeah, it was.”

Because it’d be just like the little shrug, just like the nervous, shaky grin he’d worn when he’d told Tsukishima that he had been a reserve player, the day they'd first met.

"Well, hate to crush your dreams," probably-basketball-boy says again, "But the boy's volleyball team already has _two_ super cute managers, so I don't think you'll have any luck there. Isn't that right, Tsukishima-kun?  He's on the volleyball team, you know."

The group goes quiet, the weight of their stares and their expectations so heavy against his back that he almost gives in, almost takes his headphones off to acknowledge that yes, he is indeed on the volleyball team, and yes, Kiyoko and Yachi are, objectively speaking, attractive girls who manage the team.

But he holds his silence just long enough, and the group moves on.

“Don’t mind him Yamaguchi-kun, I’m pretty sure he sleeps through breaks anyway.”

“With his eyes open?” The person parallel to Tsukishima mutters, leaning closer to Tsukishima's space in an attempt to make eye contact. Tsukishima remains still.

“I’d believe it.”

"Speaking of cute managers," A girl's voice says, tone bubbling with suppressed giggles, "The girl's tennis team is looking for one."

Yamaguchi sputters. Their classmates laugh, probably good-naturedly.  Tsukishima grinds his teeth.

\--

Yamaguchi goes straight home after school.  After a full day of classes, of being interrogated by classmates and meeting with teachers to figure out where exactly he is in their curriculum, of wondering when and if Tsukishima Kei was ever going to turn around and _look_ _at_ _him_ —he’s tired.  He wants to go his new apartment, maybe make something for his mom to heat up when she gets home, do his homework, and sleep.

Part one of his master plan for the evening is thwarted upon his arrival.  The apartment is still only half-moved into; between his mother settling into her new position, and his getting prepared for school, neither of them have had time to earnestly work on unpacking.  As he steps into the kitchen, he sees the box of kitchenware and utensils on the table, and remembers that they haven’t gone grocery shopping yet, or unpacked most anything they’d need for cooking.  Moreover, he’s not sure where the nearest grocery store is, and doesn’t have nearly enough willpower to explore the area.

Homework is easier to get through—not _easy_ , of course, but he doesn’t have any convenient reason to give up on the endeavor.  His mother gets home just has he resigns himself to his English homework, and she helps him with the trickier bits while they pick away at the take-out she brought home.

It’s not until they’ve started cleaning up that she asks, her voice overly casual, “So, how was your first day of classes?”

Yamaguchi gathers his textbooks together, preparing to beat a hasty retreat, and shrugs.  “It was good.  My classmates seem really nice, and the teachers have been helpful.”

His mother takes a moment away from trying to force the takeout containers into their too-full trash bin to give him an unimpressed stare.  “Well that was enthusiastic.  Did something happen?”

He briefly considers telling her about Tsukishima, but decides against it.  What would he even say?  _‘Hey mom, remember that boy I hung out with all summer?  Well he sits right in front of me in class and didn’t acknowledge my existence even once today.’_

Absolutely not, it's humiliating just to think about.

“No, it’s just that, well, _nothing_ happened, you know?” He says instead, “It was pretty normal, I guess?”

“Huh.  Well, maybe tomorrow will be more interesting,” his mother says after a beat.  “You can check out the clubs after school.  They have a volleyball team, right?  It’s probably not too late to join.”

Yamaguchi pauses, half-way out of his seat, before standing fully and pushing away from the table. 

“I don’t think I want to join a sports team,” he says at last, picking up his textbooks.  “A cultural club might not be so bad, though?”

He can feel his mother looking at him, probably frowning hard and folding her arms over her chest.  He keeps his eyes carefully focused on the floor.

“Tadashi,” she says, “You don’t have to do volleyball anymore if you really don’t want to, but…”

Yamaguchi pointedly does not take the bait.  His mother gives a short huff, probably rolls her eyes too, and continues anyway.

“But is that really what you want to do?  Shouldn’t you at least give it another shot?  A fresh start, with a new team?”

Yamaguchi shrugs, “I-I don’t like it that much, and I was never really good to begin with.  But maybe the library club would be nice, or something like that?”

His mother’s sigh feels loud enough to fill their kitchen.  “Just do whatever’s going to make your school years the most fun for you, alright?” 

“Yeah, okay,” he says. “’I'm, um, gonna turn in early tonight.  G'night mom.”

“Goodnight, Tadashi.”

\--

Tsukishima stares at his phone.  Reaches toward the night stand where it’s charging.  Let’s his hand drop half-way to its goal.  Turns over so he doesn’t have to look at it anymore. 

Turns back over, and reaches out again.

He doesn’t make a single call, or write a single text, the whole night.

\--

“When I come home, I want to hear that you’ve looked into at least one club, okay?” Yamaguchi’s mother says, emphatically waving a piece of untoasted sliced bread in his direction.  Neither of them are entirely sure where their toaster has gone.

Yamaguchi tugs on his shoe laces until his shoe feels tight enough to fuse with his foot, then slips his finger under each crisscross of the laces one by one until it’s comfortably loose again. 

“At least one, okay,” he responds after getting to his feet.  He pulls his school bag over one shoulder and steps toward the door. 

“And at least _think_ about joining a team—“ his mom calls after him as he opens the front door.

Yamaguchi shuts the door behind him.

“Sorry mom,” he murmurs, “But not today.”

\--

Hindsight helps Yamaguchi realize that he has been tempting fate, with his staunch refusal to consider volleyball.

Hindsight, in this case, is a tiny girl struggling with an oversize ball cart with a bad front wheel.

A bad front wheel that she forces over uneven pavers, which jolts the ball cart so hard the girl loses control of it and off the cart goes, running free for a whole ten feet until it hits a pole and falls over, dumping volleyballs (of course, Yamaguchi thinks, _of course_ ) all around.

Yamaguchi sighs and looks at his phone’s display clock.  There’s still time before classes start, and one of the balls has rolled over and stopped by his foot.  He can’t pretend he didn’t see this, and even if he could he wouldn’t, so he picks up the ball, and a few others he comes across as he makes his way over to the girl, who has successfully put the cart to rights but can’t seem to let it go, for fear of it tipping over again.

“Um, do you need some help?” Yamaguchi asks, placing the volleyballs he’s carrying into the cart.  “I think the wheel is broken.”

The girl looks Yamaguchi over in much the same way one looks over a snarling dog.  She pales, and seems seconds away from visibly shaking. 

 _‘Well, can’t say I’ve ever been feared before,’_ Yamaguchi thinks, kneeling to pick up a few more balls that are within reach.  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

The girl jumps just the tiniest bit, pulled back out of her thoughts by his apology. “Y-you don’t have to help!  It’s alright!”

Yamaguchi pauses in his task and looks back up at the girl.  “I’d like to though--um, i mean, if you don't mind?”

“Oh! Um, yes, thank you!” The girl says, and Yamaguchi nearly has a heart attack when she bows her head just a bit too low and nearly hits the handle bar of the ball cart with her forehead.

A moment of fizzling silence ensues as Yamaguchi continues to round up all the runaway volleyballs, until finally he breaks it by asking, “So you’re the manager for one of the volleyball teams?”

“Yes!” She responds, seeming a bit more at-ease now, “Um, the boys team—with Shimizu-senpai and, oh!  Are you interested in joining?”

Yamaguchi reigns in his instinct to respond with an emphatic ‘ _No!’_ and settles with, “I’m not really good with sports, though I guess I’m good in support roles?”

“Like a cheer team?” The girl asks, eyes bright, and Yamaguchi gets the impression that her imagination is probably a fascinating place.

 “I don’t think anyone wants to see me cheering for them,” Yamaguchi says with a chuckle, waving the question off. 

The girl responds with a little laugh of her own, which is, objectively speaking, _adorable_.  “That’s---Shimizu-senpai!”

Yamaguchi turns, following the girl’s star-struck gaze to the person behind him—and meets a new gaze, one that much more reserved and, he thinks, wary. 

“Is everything alright Hitoka-chan?” the older girl asks, her dark eyes moving between the two.  Yamaguchi swallows thickly—his old all-boys school had not quite prepared him for meeting beautiful girls, and this Shimizu person is an _extremely_ beautiful girl.

“Yes, just—the ball cart fell over and this boy, uh--“ The girl looks up at Yamaguchi, panic in her eyes as it dawns on her that they’d never introduced themselves.  His old school didn’t really prepare him for cute, nervous girls either, he thinks mournfully.

“Yamaguchi!” He says, a bit too loudly, then repeats more quietly, “Um, my name is Yamaguchi Tadashi.”

“Yamaguchi-san,” the girl repeats, “I’m Yachi Hitoka.  It’s nice to meet you!”

“Same here,” Yamaguchi replies, then turns to their upperclassman.  ‘ _She’s just a person, and an upperclassman,’_ he tell himself, ‘ _You can’t_ not _respond!’_ “Um, I was just helping get the balls back together.  I hope I haven’t been a bother?”

The tension leaves the older girl’s shoulders.  She replies to him with a small smile, “Not at all.  Thank you for helping.  Would you mind helping us get this to the equipment room, too?”

Yamaguchi’s heart stutters, and his mouth is curving into a wide smile before he quite knows what he’s doing.  “S-sure!”

\--

Eating lunch with Yachi had seemed like a good idea, before Tsukishima realized that this also meant eating lunch with Hinata and Kageyama and, as a consequence, being drafted into helping them with their homework.  Granted, he doesn't do much, just listens to music and occasionally takes verbal potshots at his less academically-inclined teammates, but it's not quite the peaceful reprieve he'd anticipated.   Still, it beat sitting at his desk, trying to figure out how, precisely, to turn around and actually _talk_ to Yamaguchi without drawing the attention of his classmates.  He'd picked over the problem all morning and so far, had only succeeded in giving himself a headache.

His break from Yamaguchi and all the problems he's made for himself in that area meets its end at the most unexpected of hands.

"Tsukishima-kun?" Yachi asks towards the end of their lunch break.  The two idiots have already left, racing back to some agreed-upon point between their respective classrooms. "C-can I ask you for a favor?"  

Tsukishima pauses in gathering his things.  Yachi rarely asks for favors, and when she does they're usually painless and reasonable (like getting things off high shelves), so he doesn't hesitate to nod and say, "What do you need?"

"Um, it's just--!!" Yachi 's obvious flusterment at this early stage in the favor-asking process has dread pooling in Tsukishima's stomach already.  This is definitely not a request to get an object off a high shelf.

"Yes?" He prompts, impatient as a man kneeling before his executioner, hoping to just _get it over with._

"Uh, well, s-someone in your class helped me out this morning, a-and I made them a thank you gift and was h-hoping you could give it to them?"

Tsukishima lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.  Okay, so he'll have to interact with one of his classmates. That's not the _most_ painful thing he's ever been asked to do, though it certainly ranks in the top ten.   So he shrugs, and says, "Sure."

"T-thank you!"  Yachi says as she digs through her desk for the gift, "I-I know gifts sh-should be given in person, but I was worried about how it would um, seem, if I did and--ahah!"

Yachi pulls out a small bundle of obviously-handmade cookies.  Tsukishima feels like his entire body is cringing as he puts the pieces together.  A boy helped her, and she doesn't want it to seem like she's confessing to him when she hands over the cookies.  Honestly, he wants to ask, what does she think these are going to look like coming from _him_?  But he's already agreed, and besides, he really _doesn't_ want some moonstruck boy following around his club manager, so--the lesser of two evils it is.

"W-we made them in home economics today," she explains, red-faced.  "I just--thought it would be a nice gesture!"

"I see," Tsukishima says, inspecting the cookies.  They're cute and colorful and cooked to perfection.  He wonders if he could get away with eating them on the way back to his class instead of giving them away.  "And who's the lucky boy?"

"Oh, um, Yamaguchi-kun? He said he'd just transferred to your class."

 _'Impossible,'_ Tsukishima wants to say. ' _I'm sorry Yachi, but you've asked the impossible of me.  There are no words to explain just how much I can't do this for you._ '

He doesn't, though.  He simply nods, mutely, a mask of death on his face.

"Thank you!" Yachi says, breathing out a sigh of relief.  "And--oh!  Remember, no afternoon practice today!"

Tsukishima turns to the door, and thanks the universe for giving him at least one break today.

\--

Yamaguchi wakes up from his noontime nap to the gentle buzzing of his cell phone. 

"Wuh...?" he mumbles, fishing his phone out of his pocket.  The clock at the front of the classroom says he has two minutes until lunch is over, and he feels a bit miffed about being cheated out of his precious dozing time. 

The name on the display shakes the drowsiness right from his frame. 

** Tsukki!!: **

**_Meet me in the hall_ **

Yamaguchi finds himself scrambling to get to his feet before he's quite decided that he wants to, and he stands there for a moment, staring blankly at his phone, wondering what Tsukishima wants from him and if he really wants to humor someone who has, for the past 20-something-odd hours, completely ignored his existence.

But he's already on his feet, and some of his classmates are giving him curious looks, so he figures the best way out of _this_ increasingly-awkward situation is to dive head-first into the _even more_ awkward situation that no doubt is waiting for him on the other side of the classroom door. 

"T-Tsukki--shima-kun?"  Yamaguchi stammers as he slips into the hallway.  Tsukishima startles at his voice, coming back from whatever far-off place his mind had been during the moment it took for Yamaguchi to reach him. "You uh, needed me for something?"

Tsukishima makes a face like Yamaguchi has just personally made him bite down on a fresh lemon.  Then, with the most grudging body language possible, Tsukishima thrusts one hand out between them and presents Yamaguchi with--homemade cookies?

Yamaguchi's first impulse is to say, ' _You know I don't like sweets, Tsukki,'_ but he bites down on the comment before it hits air.

"Uh, what?" Yamaguchi says instead, stunning both himself and Tsukishima with his clever wit and masterful turn of phrase.  He doesn't reach out to take the proffered cookies, refuses to, until he knows what on earth is happening right now. 

Tsukishima rolls his eyes.  "Yachi asked me to gives these to you as a thank you.  Said you helped her this morning?"

"Oh," Yamaguchi heaves a sigh that is mostly relief, and a little bit chagrined disappointment that he's not, in fact, getting cookies from Tsukishima.  All the same, he smiles and takes them off the other boy's hands.  "Well, let her know I said thank you too."

Tsukishima clicks his tongue, which Yamaguchi imagines is asshole for "I'm not your messenger boy, but whatever."

"Uh, guess we should get back to class then?" Yamaguchi says after an awkward beat of silence. 

"That you should boys, that you should."

 Yamaguchi and Tsukishima both jump, and Yamaguchi fumbles the cookies, when their teacher's voice ring out between them.  Yamaguchi's gaze swings to her, his heart beating in his throat, and he realizes with dread that she's looking at the cookies in his hand, making a face that says very obviously that she's trying hard _not_ to make a different face.   He doesn't want to know what she thinks she's stumbled upon. 

"Well?  Are you going to stand and stare, or get yourselves to your seats?"

"R-right, Sensei!" Yamaguchi stammers and makes for the door, shoving the cookies hastily into his pocket all the while.  It feels like the entire classroom watches him get back to his desk, and as he sinks down into his seat, he wishes bitterly that he'd just slept through to the end of his lunch break.

\--

Before leaving  that day, Yamaguchi asks his homeroom teacher for a list of clubs that the school offers, which he decides counts as looking into “at least one club,” and heads home not much later.  His classmates have also suggested he check out Sakanoshita Store, so thinks he’ll take the opportunity to stop by and see what it has and if it would be a good place to get _something_ to stock his refrigerator with. 

It’s one thing to eat store-bought lunches and take-out for dinner every day, but un-toasted toast for breakfast every morning isn’t going to cut it.  They need milk, and eggs, and rice _,_ and to start acting like they really live in this new apartment, which means stocking their kitchen.

 Sakanoshita Store has more on offer than he’d expected.  He picks up a small bag of his mom’s favorite coffee, two lunches, and a few cans of tea.  Tomorrow, he resolves upon reaching the front counter, he’ll remember to bring more money and shop properly.

“Hey kid,” the elderly man behind the counter’s sharp eyes would’ve gotten Yamaguchi’s attention, even if his tone hadn’t.  “Haven’t seen you around before.  You new to the neighborhood?”

Yamaguchi stammers a moment, before nodding.  “Y-yes sir, just moved last week.”

The man is gruff, but his smile is kind. “Ah, well, I look forward to seeing you around.”

“Thank you sir, it was nice meeting you!”

Yamaguchi leaves the store happy and humming.   He thinks that, other than his Tsukishima Problem, this move hasn’t been so bad for him.  The people are nice, he doesn’t have to take a train home, their new apartment is bigger and in better shape than their old one, and there’s even a park across the street from it to laze around in. 

He’s still humming as he puts his address into his phone’s GPS, since he doesn’t quite trust himself to make it home on memory alone yet, his tongue poking out of his mouth just the tiniest bit as he pokes at the touch screen. 

And then bites his tongue when he bumps into someone on the sidewalk.

“Ow, ow…” Yamaguchi cups his free hand over his mouth and looks up to the person he bumped into.

‘ _Of course,_ ’ he thinks, squinting at how the late summer sun makes Tsukishima’s hair gleam painfully bright.  Or maybe its residual heartache that makes looking at Tsukishima hard, Yamaguchi thinks humorlessly, who really knows. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs.  He doesn’t expect a response, and he doesn’t get one, beyond a shrug.  Part of Yamaguchi wants to force the issue, to demand that Tsukishima _say_ something to him, say something for himself instead of something another person asked him to say, but he restrains himself.  It’s clear Tsukishima doesn’t want him around, and Yamaguchi’s grown out of begging attention off of people who have no interest in him.

He ignores Tsukishima’s presence next to him, then a few paces ahead of him, then a few meters down the road.  He keeps walking, his gaze intent—on his phone, on the street signs, on the pavement—turns corners as the GPS instructs him too, again and again, and then bumps into his single (and singular) problem once more after taking his third turn.

“Tch, are you following me?” Tsukishima rounds on him before Yamaguchi can quite figure out what’s happening.

“Uh—I—“ Yamaguchi clutches his phone to his chest, his eyes flickering from Tsukishima’s face, to the pavement, then back up to his scowl.  “I’m just going home?”

Tsukishima looks pointedly unimpressed with this explanation, but Yamaguchi persists, holding out his phone so that Tsukishima can see the display.  He looks at his own trembling hands, and realizes he’s not afraid.  Upset, but not afraid.  His voice is stronger when he says again, “I’m just going home.”

The sun is too bright for Tsukishima to have any chance of hiding the embarrassed edge of his grimace, or the pink that rises to his cheeks just before he clicks his tongue again and turns away.  He puts his headphones on before Yamaguchi can say another word. 

Yamaguchi’s next inhale is harsh; his lungs feel like they're full of sand.  He gets it—for whatever reason, Tsukishima wants nothing to do with him.  He gets it, he won’t push the issue, won’t beg friendship off a person who’s so unwilling, he has his pride, but—

“I didn’t expect anything, you know,” Yamaguchi murmurs.  Tsukishima gives no indication that he can hear him through his headphones, so Yamaguchi continues on.  He deserves to say it once, even if Tsukishima isn’t listening.  “When I saw you, I didn’t expect that we’d be—whatever we were this summer.  Friends, I guess?  But I just transferred here, and you’re the only one I knew, and you didn’t even look at me until someone else asked you to.  I didn’t expect anything but—but I guess I didn’t expect that, either.”

He wants Tsukishima to look back at him. He doesn’t need an apology, maybe, but—

“You lied,” Tsukishima says suddenly.  The sound of his voice jolts down Yamaguchi’s spine, makes his shoulders pull in tight. 

“When you told the class you were a manager.  Or when you told me you played, one or the other—you lied,” Tsukishima says again, “Why?”

Yamaguchi recoils from the question.  “I didn’t lie, either time.”

Tsukishima snorts, “Oh really? How’s that?”

Yamaguchi’s had enough—the first time Tsukishima talks to him of his own volition in three days, and it’s to accuse him of stalking him and lying. Whatever game this is, he’s not going to play.  He’s _tired_ of being someone else’s game.

“Figure it out yourself, Tsukki,” Yamaguchi says, “I don’t owe you anything.”

Yamaguchi picks up his pace then, storming down the street. 

Tsukishima stays behind, still.


	2. Affection Floats

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo! Chapter 2! I'm going to do my best to update this every other week, but I make no promises.

Yamaguchi watches with rapt attention as the cool and unconcerned facade Tsukishima entered the aquarium with dissolves into unabashed fascination.  The transformation reminds him of the way creamer dissipates in coffee, diffusing through the bitterness in delicate clouds until something a bit sweeter, a bit more welcoming has been made.

He tries not to stare too obviously, keeping Tsukishima in the corners of his vision. Tsukishima squints at a smaller exhibit label like it just might ruin his day if he doesn't get it memorized, and Yamaguchi tells himself he's not doing anything so ridiculous as _utterly ignoring_ this fantastical aquarium and everything inside of it in favor of watching Tsukishima.  And really, he isn't--he takes his time admiring the fish as they swim along in their tanks, and reads up on the fossils and skeletons on display.   He's just _also_ indulging in some people-watching.  Or person-watching, as the case may be.

Tsukishima looks up from the exhibit label, catches Yamaguchi's gaze, and responds with a soft smile, hiding something that might be mischief in its curve.  "I take it you've been here before, hm?" he asks, and Yamaguchi feels at once like a child who's been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.  Or like some weirdo who's been caught staring at people in aquariums instead of paying attention to the fish. Either-or, really.

"Y-yeah," Yamaguchi stammers, throwing his gaze onto the closest exhibit label; who knew the Lucifer Dogfish could grow to be forty-seven centimeters?  Fascinating stuff. "Uh, my mom took me when I was little, and I've come here on school trips...came on my own once, too, just because."

"I see," Tsukishima says, his expression flickering, though whether it's out of worry, or whether he's just deciding that Yamaguchi is a bigger nerd than he'd anticipated, Yamaguchi can't quite tell.  "I hope you're not too bored, then."

"What?  No, not at all!" Yamaguchi rushes to say, horrified that somehow he's given the impression that he's _bored_.  "I'm really, really excited to be here with you!  A-and it's been so long, and even if it hadn't been, it's not like I could memorize the place or anyth--"

"Yamaguchi," Tsukishima cuts in, and when Yamaguchi turns back to him he finds Tsukishima with one hand up and looking as though it had stopped half-way into a comforting gesture.  He pulls his hand back in one jerky movement, but smiles--an awkward, genuine smile. "I'm really enjoying myself, too."

Gentle, unbearable heat seems to close around them both, turning the awkwardness of the moment into something cozy and sweet. In that world of their own, they manage to hold each other's gaze for just a few seconds more, before Tsukishima looks away.

"Well then," Tsukishima declares, voice low and quiet, "You'd better show me all the best places, since you've been here before."

The playfulness that accompanies the command sends the blood rushing to Yamaguchi's face, the sudden flush leaves him light-headed and flustered for a moment.  Yet  the words remind him that there _is_ something he's eager to show Tsukishima, so he reaches out, takes Tsukishima by the wrist, and begins to lead him into the next exhibit hall.

"Alright then Tsukki," he says, glancing over his shoulder at Tsukishima with excitement dancing in his eyes, "I'm gonna show you the best of the best!"

"Wha--right now?" Tsukishima asks.  The sudden switch from casual strolling to purposeful marching seems to have thrown him off-kilter, and he stumbles once before catching up with Yamaguchi's stride.  His arm slips in Yamaguchi's hold, but he returns the grip when their hands meet.  They both adjust so their fingers can intertwine, and neither feels the need to confirm if it's okay; they both know that right now it is.  

"And... Here we are!" Yamaguchi says, just as he reaches the final turn before his favorite exhibit hall.  A gentle blue glow encroaches on the dimly lit hallway, beckoning them around the bend.  With unhurried steps, Yamaguchi leads them forward.  

Tsukishima's grip on his hand goes slack as they emerge into the light, then tightens. His eyes go wide.  His mouth goes soft.

"Right?" Yamaguchi responds to the awe on Tsukishima's face as he pulls him into the triangular exhibit hall.  The walls of the glass enclosure slant to meet above them, holding back crystalline water and filtering in light. High blues and silvers dance off of Tsukishima's hair and eyes, touch his fascination with something close to magic.  Yamaguchi stares until he can no longer bear to, and then just a bit more.

"So? What do you think?" He asks, his voice quiet, as though being too loud will puncture the delicate membrane of this moment. Tsukishima's eyes follow a school of shimmering fish as they swim by overhead, then flicker to Yamaguchi.

"It's amazing," he says, gentle as a breath--but the words hit Yamaguchi like thunder anyway.  He's rooted to the spot, his mouth clamped shut while his mind floods with everything he wants to say and how there's nothing left _to_ say, not to those sharp eyes and too-soft expression. 

The slow curve of Tsukishima's mouth stalls out his thoughts as he continues, "That said, shouldn't you save the best for last?"

Yamaguchi grins, and steps forward like he's taking up a challenge.  "Don't worry Tsukki, this is just the beginning."

\---

\---

\---

Tsukishima is grateful to return to an empty house.  He doesn’t slam any doors, or stomp up the stairs, but he does turn his music up loud enough to make his head throb until he can barely think.

He stares at his phone’s display screen, thumbs through his contacts.  He still has Yamaguchi’s contact information, and all of their messages to each other. 

He considers rereading them.

He considers deleting them.

He considers sending a new one.

He puts his phone down, though his hand still rests over it, and rolls over to stare at his ceiling instead.

 _‘What’s there to lose, at this point?’_ He wonders. 

The answer echo through him, in his sweating palms and his churning stomach. 

He ignores it, and closes his eyes.

\--

Yamaguchi’s indignation lasts just long enough to get him through the front door, then sputters out somewhere between the entryway and the kitchen. 

Yamaguchi’s thoughts keep circling the issue as he puts away the few groceries he bought, picking over everything that’s happened in the past two days like vultures would a corpse.  His energy from earlier transforms into something nervy and scattered, forces him to keep moving to burn some of it off.  The kitchen, with its still-packed boxes of supplies, makes for a perfect outlet.

He just wishes he knew _why_ Tsukishima wanted nothing to do with him.  Hadn’t they parted on good terms?  On _really_ good terms?  Sure, it was surprising that they were in the same school, to say nothing of being in the same _class_ , but that could only excuse so much.

Pots clang dully as Yamaguchi arranges them in an over-the-counter cabinet, but he can’t spare a thought for going about his task more quietly, too busy thinking about his classmates and what few things they've said about Tsukishima.  ‘ _He’s like that with everyone_ ,’ they’d said, ‘ _Likes to keep to himself_.’  Someone had muttered _‘Anti-social,’_ under their breath, and while that had inspired some uncomfortable grimaces, no one had exactly countered that point.

If he thinks about it, Yamaguchi doesn’t think he’s seen Tsukishima really talk to anyone since school started.  He responds when teachers call on him and is polite enough in group settings, but he spends every break with his headphones on and his nose in a book, or outside of the classroom.  He must talk to Yachi though, and to his teammates, but it's hard to imagine when Yamaguchi hasn't seen it.

And if he really, _really_ thinks about it, Tsukishima hadn’t much spoken to anyone all summer either, except for Yamaguchi and his own family.  Maybe Tsukishima just wasn’t a talker.  Maybe the summer had just been an exception, some kind of magic brought on by the sea and the heat.

Still, Yamaguchi thinks, closing the cabinet doors with unnecessary force, that didn’t excuse this afternoon.  It had been just the two of them on that street; Tsukishima could have apologized, or even just said hello, anything other than _accusing Yamaguchi of stalking him and lying_ , for goodness sake. 

Though, the chronically reasonable part of his mind says, it's not like either of them knew they went home the same way.  He can sort of see where some confusion may have arisen, though the particular level of prickliness he'd been subjected to still baffles him.   

Yamaguchi gets to the bottom of the last box labeled “kitchen” just a little over an hour later.  He still can’t find the toaster.  It’s the only thing missing.  Maybe they left it in their old apartment?  He hopes not.  Buying a new one wouldn’t an issue, but he’d _liked_ the old one, it was the toaster he was used to.  He could adjust to a new one, but he doesn’t want to if it’s not necessary.

Yamaguchi sighs.  It’s just one thing not in its place, he tells himself.  He can deal.  He always has.

\--

Tsukishima knows before he’s even changed for morning practice that he is going to be off his game today.  Not that he’s ever really _on_ his game—he gets by on his height alone and he knows it, and he knows he wouldn’t at all if he were on a bigger team.  Part of him wishes he was.

He also wishes he had less attentive teammates, he thinks, his expression going stiff with forced neutrality as Sugawara Koushi makes a bee line for him just before morning stretches.  The knee injury that kept him off the court all summer has healed enough to allow him to rejoin practices, but this has not dissuaded his elders from hovering like moths around the flame that is his shiny new knee brace, more preoccupied than even he is with the care of his knee.   _Everyone_ , in fact, has been a bit too invested in his knee, and it leaves a bad taste in his mouth whenever he thinks about it.  He's not quite sure why.

“Good morning Tsukishima,” Sugawara says, stretching his arms over his head, “I don’t think I ever asked how your summer break went.  Restful, I hope?”

Tsukishima takes care in lowering himself into the starting position for the first stretch.  His eyes follow Sugawara as he moves to stand behind Tsukishima. "It was alright."

When it's clear that Tsukishima doesn't intend to elaborate, Sugawara tries another approach. "You vacationed with your family while you recovered, right?" he asks, bearing down on Tsukishima in the most literal sense as he pushes Tsukishima slowly into a deep forward stretch.  "Do anything interesting?"

"Not especially," the words trudge out of his mouth, "Stayed at the beach, went to an aquarium. Tourist-y things, mostly."

Whatever Sugawara is attempting, it's clear that his current plan of attack is not working out in his favor (Tsukishima feels almost vindictively pleased with himself for this), so he makes a quick change in tactics.

"It's a shame you couldn't make it to the summer training camp though, you were missed."

Tsukishima's glad that his expression is hidden from his upperclassman, since he couldn't have kept the disbelief off his face even if he'd tried--and try he did not.  He can't imagine a single one of his teammates _missing_ him, except perhaps for Sugawara himself, if only because his net of generalized affection spread wide enough to encompass even the most distant of acquaintances.

"Though," Sugawara continues, "I suppose it would have been frustrating to go, when you couldn't participate fully?"

Sighing, Tsukishima moves on to his next stretch. "Suga-san, is there something you're concerned about?"

Sugawara chuckles softly, "Am I that obvious?"

Tsukishima gives a noncommittal hum.

"It's just, you've seem distracted since you came back," Sugawara explains.  "And I understand that you don't, ah, approach club activities with the zealousness of some of our other members, but usually you're more focused during practices.  I was just wondering if something happened?"

Heat begins to creep up Tsukishima's neck, and it has nothing to do with the exertion of his stretches. He's felt off, of course, ever since he'd been made to take the summer off from volleyball.  Ever since he'd stumbled into a friendship with more ease than he'd ever thought possible for himself.  Ever since he'd returned home and remembered who he is and _how_ he is, how maybe something had changed but that something didn't seem to be him.  The thought itched worse than a scabbed-over injury, the origins of which he couldn't pinpoint.

He's not going to talk about it. He's not even sure how he would. Would he say to Sugawara, "Everyone's concern for my injury is giving me emotional _hives_ for reasons I'm not entirely willing to explore, and also I'm having boy troubles which are entirely of my own making?"

No, he certainly would not.

"I'm fine, senpai," Tsukishima says at last, "Just over-conscious of my knee right now."

Sugawara's eyebrows furrow and something closer to a pout than a frown pulls at his mouth, his whole expression falling somewhere between concern and consternation. But he wipes the look off his face as fast as he'd dawned it, and says with more pep than Tsukishima thinks is entirely warranted, "Be sure to go at the pace that feels best for you, then, and remember you can talk to me, or Daichi, or the adults if you need to."

"Mm. Thank you, Suga-san," Tsukishima says, and politely puts any further attempts at conversation to rest.

\--

\--

"Yamaguchi-kun, help me carry these hand-outs to the faculty room," his homeroom teacher calls out to him, just as he's on his way to his locker. 

A tingle of that general anxiety one experiences when called out by a teacher for no discernible reason works its way down Yamaguchi's spine as he stops himself mid-step and turns toward his homeroom teacher, dutifully taking half of the hand-outs from her.  He holds in a sigh; it's not like he had any exciting after school plans, but being snatched away from freedom when he was so close was, in a word, disappointing.

"So, how are you doing Yamaguchi-kun?" She asks as they make their way to the faculty room. "Adjusting well to the class?"

Tension drains out of his shoulders at the question, but only by a fraction.  This is only a little check-in, he tells himself, his teacher is just looking out for the new kid, he can handle this!

"I'm doing well," he tells her, because it's true.  "Everyone's been really nice," he adds, which is also, generally, true.  His classmates have kept up a friendly rapport with him, even as his mysterious transfer student aura diminishes into regular classmate aura.

"That's good to hear!" his teacher says, smiling up at him as he opens the door to the faculty room for her. "It's a pretty good class; everyone means well.  What about clubs?  Have you found one you're interested in joining yet?"

What little tension Yamaguchi had shed slithers right back into his skin and he feels, quite honestly, like he could have very strong words with whoever it was that decided extracurricular activities were so important. 

"Ah, not yet," he says, placing the handouts on his teacher's neck.  As soon as his hands are free, he's running one through the back of his hair, tugging a little to get rid of some of his nervous energy.  "Been busy settling in and all."

His teacher doesn't quite frown at that, but he can tell she wants to. "Well, extracurriculars aren't mandatory here, but clubs can play a big part in making the most of your school life--if you can, you should.  I think you student file said you played volleyball in junior high, right?"

God save him from well-meaning adults, Yamaguchi thinks to the ceiling, before replying, "That's right."

"We have one too, you know?  A volleyball team," She says, pleased to find what she likely imagines is a way to get Yamaguchi out of the Go-Home-After-School Club.  "It's pretty small right now--we're not quite the championship school we used to be--but we're on the rise!  Now, is Takeda-sensei around..."

She looks around, presumably to find this Takeda-sensei, but her eyes stop at the door instead of on any of the work stations in the office.  "Oh, Tsukishima-kun!  Perfect timing!"

 _'Not perfect timing! Terrible timing!!'_ Yamaguchi shouts to the world at large.  Tsukishima stands in the doorway, tense as a deer in the middle of a four-lane highway.  Yamaguchi sympathizes.

"Tsukishima-kun is on the volleyball team," his teacher says, as though Yamaguchi doesn't have this particular fact about Tsukishima Kei engraved onto his brain at this point.  "There's practice today, right?  Take Yamaguchi-kun with you, I'm sure he'll be more comfortable scoping out the club with a classmate to accompany him."

Tsukishima nods robotically, rearranging his expression into something less horrified and more politely neutral.  He walks just far enough into the faculty room to hand the teacher whatever it is he'd initially come here for, then gestures for Yamaguchi to follow him.  "C'mon," he murmurs, and Yamaguchi falls into step behind him, feeling helpless to do anything else.

Silence hangs between them, so long that it seems to drag the seconds out into small eons, until finally Tsukishima punches a metaphorical hole in it.

"Is it because of me?" Tsukishima says, without warning or context. 

Yamaguchi has no idea what he's talking about. His face probably says as much.

Tsukishima scowls like he's just fumbled into playing a bad hand in poker, "The teacher's trying to get you to join a club because you haven't yet, right?  Am I the reason you don't want to join the volleyball team?"

There is a lot Yamaguchi wants to say to that, things like: 'Isn't that a bit too narcissistic an assumption?' and 'Why do you even care what I do?' and 'Oh, so you actually do talk to people sometimes.'

In the end he just sighs. "Tsukki, no."

Tsukishima's shoulders jump up and back, like he's just been given a small shock, and it takes Yamaguchi a minute to think of why--the nickname. It's so inappropriate here, with what they are, but it had just slipped out...

"N-No," he stammers, face warm and chest cold with anxiety, "I mean--not really? Not that I--I mean I don't want to seem like a _stalker_ or anything b-but I have my own reasons as well!"

Tsukishima turns his face away, his posture tensing, and Yamaguchi knows they're both thinking about the previous night's altercation. He takes in Tsukishima's hunched shoulders, and how pinched his face has become, like he's been trying to hold up something heavy for just a little too long.  Yamaguchi finds his own posture curling inward, pulling away from whatever is about to happen before it can hurt him.   _Again_. 

(How had this been so easy, so painless before?) 

"If you want to join, you should just do it," Tsukishima says at last. He keeps his eyes trained securely on something to his left. "If one of us has to play, it should be you--You like volleyball more than I do anyway."

Yamaguchi stares, mouth hanging open and fully prepared to release his thoughts the moment they coalesce into words.

"So you'd--would you _quit_ if I joined?" Yamaguchi asks, not sure when he went from _I don't want to join at all_  to _Okay but if I did,_ "Because you think I'm more attached to it than you are?  Is this team not big enough for the two of us, or something?"

 Tsukishima's expression closes off with the speed and suddenness of shutters in a wind storm and Yamaguchi realizes, not for the first time, that he doesn't know anything about him.  And Tsukishima doesn't know much about Yamaguchi, either. All they have is this weird summer thing between them, and--and maybe it's time to take the ocean-tinted goggles off.  It's time to stop thinking of Tsukishima in the context of summer, pack him up in a box like all the other things in his life, and bring him to Karasuno--known but unfamiliar.

"Tsu--Tsukishima-kun," Yamaguchi stammers, and winces at the awkward way the name fumbles out of his mouth.  "It's not--I like volleyball, but things changed okay?  And I just don't want to play on a team right now.  I--I'm sorry if I made you feel like that was your fault; it's really got nothing to do with you."

Tsukishima stares at him for a moment, his eyes hard and shrewd as ever, before he nods.  "If you don't want to go right now, you don't have to.   I'll make some excuse to the teacher for you."

It occurs to Yamaguchi that Tsukishima is, in this moment, trying to help him, to give him a way out an uncomfortable situation.  It's a tiny gesture, but also possibly the closest thing to straightforward kindness that Tsukishima has shown him since the school year started.  Yamaguchi allows himself to relax just a fraction.

"No, that's okay," Yamaguchi says with a sigh, "My mom's been on my case to check out the volleyball club too.  Who knows what _else_ the universe will throw at me if I don't go now?"

Tsukishima raises an eyebrow as if to ask, ' _What am I? A force of nature?'_ and his expression is halfway into one of his little smirks (the one's Yamaguchi remembers so well from summer afternoons whittled away with free-flowing banter) before he turns away again, ears pink. 

Well, it's progress, Yamaguchi decides, and doesn't feel strange about smiling back.

\--

Takeda-sensei is, in comparison to Yamaguchi, a teeny tiny man, but his enthusiasm at hearing about the possibility of a new member for the team seems to grow him to three times his real size. 

"You're absolutely welcome to join!" He says, his excitement over the idea manifesting in the way he all but _bounces_ in place, not to mention the width of his smile.  Goodness, Yamaguchi thinks, saying 'no' to this man is going to be like kicking a puppy, and Yamaguchi _loves_ puppies, possibly more than he loves life itself.

"Of course," Takeda continues on, "If you'd like to maybe do a trial run, see if the club is a good fit for you, I understand.  In fact, that seems the wise choice.  It's best to look before you leap, right?"

"Y-yeah..." Yamaguchi replies weakly, staring resolutely at his sneakers so he doesn't have to look at the joy and expectation on Takeda's face.

"That said, our team is participating in the Spring Tournament.  You'll need to join officially to participate."

Just the _thought_ of playing in a tournament is enough to trap Yamaguchi's breath in his throat, leaving him frozen and unable to explain how much he _really_ does not want that.  So he's grateful when a gruff voice breaks into the exchange, dragging the conversation back into safer waters. 

"Hah?  Do we got another one now?" Another man asks as he steps into their combined space.  He's taller and broader than Takeda, with bleached blond hair and tragically obvious roots.  Yamaguchi catches a whiff of lavender and poorly-concealed cigarette smoke.  "Haven't seen you around before."

"I transferred recently, sir," Yamaguchi says for what feels like--and frankly, probably sounds like--the hundredth time.

"Ukai, I coach," the man supplies.  He gives Yamaguchi a critical once-over.  "And you've played volleyball before? What position did you play?  Middle-blocker?"

"Um," Yamaguchi stammers, "I-I was just a reserve player.  I mostly got called in as a pinch server."

"So you're good under pressure, hm?" Ukai asks, like he can't quite believe it.  Yamaguchi doesn't blame him.

"It was a bad fit," Yamaguchi replies bluntly. 

Oddly enough, Ukai doesn't look like he quite believes that, either.

"Well, let's get you into practice and see if we can find a better fit," he declares. "Go change, we'll have you join in with the rest to warm up."

"I--um, that is--" Yamaguchi flounders, dread that he _knows_ is irrational filling up his lungs, and he wants to _get out_ of this mess, this is so far from what he'd been prepared for today.

"Ah, Ukai-kun," Takeda says, "I don't think Yamaguchi-kun has anything to change into right now?"

"Oh, right," Ukai says.  Bashfulness sits clumsily on his face.  "Sorry about that, should've realized.  Feel free to look on then, if you'd like."

"T-thank you, sir," Yamaguchi says, breathing easier now that the immediate threat of practice is gone.  "But I'm supposed to run errands for my mom today, so..."

"We understand, of course!" Takeda responds, "Please, don't let us hold you up.  You can stop by morning practice tomorrow and get a feel for things."

This is the moment, Yamaguchi knows, the moment where he has to say _Actually, I don't want to join the volleyball team,_ or else be sucked into the sport all over again.  But it's much harder to look into the expectant faces of the team's coach and advisor and say no, than it was to just avoid the team altogether, and in the end Yamaguchi can't quite find it in him to tell the truth.

"S-sure, thank you for having me," he says instead.  Not a moment later he's walking away from their beaming faces and the sound of  sneakers squeaking against the gym floor, and wishing painfully that he'd taken the out Tsukishima had given him.

\--

Tsukishima finds himself distracted throughout afternoon practice.   As he'd changed into his practice clothes, the only thought on his mind was that _Yamaguchi is here, he's here and he's going to see this team practice, see me practice._   The thought had hounded him as he'd helped set up the gym too, but then before he knew it, he was looking up, expecting to find Yamaguchi sitting on a bench or talking with Ukai, and instead found that he was already on his way out of the gym.

 _'He must really not want to join if he got away from Takeda-sensei that fast,'_ Tsukishima thinks, mostly to distract himself from the baseless guilt that's frying his brain, even though Yamaguchi said flat-out that his decision not to join the club has nothing to do with him.  All the same, Tsukishima can't help but think, if he could've just--just _functioned_ like a half-way decent human being the past few days, would Yamaguchi be walking away right now?  Would he have at least stayed to watch practice? Would he have stayed if they were friends?

"Hey, what happened to that guy you brought here with you?" Hinata asks as they line up for spiking practice.  "Was he a friend of yours?  Is he going to join the team?"

The question hits the nerve Tsukishima had been picking at dead-center.  " _No_ ," he says too viciously, and it sounds bitter to even his own ears.

Tsukishima scowls at the net in front of him.  _'You're so pathetic_ ,' he tells himself, because he _knows_ what he's doing right now and _pathetic_ is the only word he's willing to use to describe this behavior. 

From across the net, Hinata mutters, "Wuah, Tsukishima-kun looks so scary..."

He doesn't feel very scary.  In fact, he feels like an idiot. But if it's all the same to Hinata, well, Tsukishima is okay with that. 

"Aren't you just too easily scared?" He mutters. 

Hinata, naturally, rises to the bait.  "W-who's afraid of you, huh?" He asks, even as he ducks behind Tanaka's back.  Tsukishima would feel flattered by the display, only Tanaka's newfound involvement promises to drive the drama of the moment through the roof.  Oh well, Tsukishima decides, the better to keep his mind off things. "Bet you scared the new guy off, too..."

Never mind, Hinata's a _terrible_ distraction, and Tsukishima's going to _end him_ for not shutting the _hell_ up.

"Oi, Tsukishima!" Tanaka, predictably, exclaims, his face screwed up in fierce scowl.  "Why're you menacing my adorable kouhai?"  

For a moment, Tsukishima thinks he'd be happy to take down Tanaka too, if it got him within throttling distance of Hinata, but--no, that would be unwise.  There are hierarchies to observe, and Tsukishima has always found that he works best when he keeps himself well inside the rules.

So instead of pouring out every unkind observation he's ever made at Tanaka's expense, Tsukishima tilts his head just a bit to the side, rearranging his face into something approximating innocent.  "Am I not also your adorable kouhai, Tanaka-senpai?  I'm hurt."

Tanaka flusters immediately, and it's almost worth having pulled the senpai card, to see him squirm.  Rules, hierarchies, unkind observations.  He supposes he gets some kind of joy out of seeing them work together.

"Hey!"  Sawamura's voice breaks through the tension before Tanaka can form a retort, "Back to practice you three!  Put some of that fighting energy into your spikes!"

"Yes sir," Tsukishima mumbles, and turns his attention back to the task at hand. 

Or tries to, at least.  Only, his mind is miles away, and he knows there's no reeling it back in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two down, three or so to go? Significant positive progress is made next chapter, promise!


End file.
